The Garies and Their Friends eBook

Mr. Ellis clung to the chimney, shrieking,—­“Save
me! save me!—­Help! help! Will no one
save me!” His cries were unheeded by the ruffians,
and the people at the surrounding windows were unable
to afford him any assistance, even if they were disposed
to do so.

Despite his cries and resistance, they forced him
to the edge of the roof; he clinging to them the while,
and shrieking in agonized terror. Forcing off
his hold, they thrust him forward and got him partially
over the edge, where he clung calling frantically
for aid. One of the villains, to make him loose
his hold, struck on his fingers with the handle of
a hatchet found on the roof; not succeeding in breaking
his hold by these means, with, an oath he struck with
the blade, severing two of the fingers from one hand
and deeply mangling the other.

With a yell of agony, Mr. Ellis let go his hold, and
fell upon a pile of rubbish below, whilst a cry of
triumphant malignity went up from the crowd on the
roof.

A gentleman and some of his friends kindly carried
the insensible man into his house. “Poor
fellow!” said he, “he is killed, I believe.
What a gang of wretches. These things are dreadful;
that such a thing can be permitted in a Christian
city is perfectly appalling.” The half-dressed
family gathered around the mangled form of Mr. Ellis,
and gave vent to loud expressions of sympathy.
A doctor was quickly sent for, who stanched the blood
that was flowing from his hands and head.

“I don’t think he can live,” said
he, “the fall was too great. As far as I
can judge, his legs and two of his ribs are broken.
The best thing we can do, is to get him conveyed to
the hospital; look in his pockets, perhaps we can
find out who he is.”

There was nothing found, however, that afforded the
least clue to his name and residence; and he was,
therefore, as soon as persons could be procured to
assist, borne to the hospital, where his wounds were
dressed, and the broken limbs set.

CHAPTER XXI.

More Horrors.

Unaware of the impending danger, Mr. Garie sat watching
by the bedside of his wife. She had been quite
ill; but on the evening of which we write, although
nervous and wakeful, was much better. The bleak
winds of the fast approaching winter dealt unkindly
with her delicate frame, accustomed as she was to
the soft breezes of her Southern home.

Mr. Garie had been sitting up looking at the fires
in the lower part of the city. Not having been
out all that day or the one previous, he knew nothing
of the fearful state into which matters had fallen.

“Those lights are dying away, my dear,”
said he to his wife; “there must have been quite
an extensive conflagration.” Taking out
his watch, he continued, “almost two o’clock;
why, how late I’ve been sitting up. I really
don’t know whether it’s worth while to
go to bed or not, I should be obliged to get up again
at five o’clock; I go to New York to-morrow,
or rather to-day; there are some matters connected
with Uncle John’s will that require my personal
attention. Dear old man, how suddenly he died.”